


The Silence

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hair Braiding, Shit, because that's super endearing imo, brief mention and description of the malichor, captain vasco - Freeform, de sardet - Freeform, emmy - Freeform, emmy de sardet, greedfall - Freeform, i mean there's not much going on here, like dude that's pretty much it, musings about a life not lived, um, vasco - Freeform, vasco x de sardet, vasco x emmy, vasco x emmy de sardet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Emmy De Sardet shares with Vasco a snippet of the life she's always dreamed.
Relationships: De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	The Silence

Silence. It permeates the night air like freshly fallen snow silences footfalls in winter. Only the gentle, distant lapping of waves against the hull dares break it. No servants here, no whispered conversations passing by doors in the dead of night, no distant clamoring of kitchens preparing for the next morn, no wailing infants of servants. Not even in this early hour remain the sounds of drunken laughter from the crew, and any snores given by them are kept tucked quietly in their bunks like private operas of discord.

This night marks the seventh that Emmy has sought this mystic silence, has pulled herself from her restless sleep to greet the salty sea air and let it cleanse away the nightmarish visage of the unseeing blank eyes, of the pock-marked and rotten flesh, of the blackened finger nails that haunt her since her departure. For it is in these silent moments, sat atop the base of the bowsprit, her eyes closed as she breathes in the chilly morning air that those thoughts are behind her. The malichor and its victims a far distant memory washed away by the tides, the weight of responsibility lifted from her shoulders for there is no one to remind her of her promise, to muse about the existence of a cure on the new world. No, here in the silence, she is not Lady Emmalia De Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants, cousin to the Governor of New Sérène. Here, she is Emmy and only Emmy. And here, she’s can imagine what her life might have been like if she’d not been born the niece of a prince. A life of adventure, she likes to imagine. She’d not have been satisfied to be raised to become a baker’s wife, to be a mother to countless children. No, far from it. As now with her assignment as Legate, she would’ve felt the pull of the unknown. And in all eventuality, she’d have likely chosen a life with the Nauts.

“You know it’s quite dangerous up there. Bowsprits aren’t meant for lounging, milady.”

She does not start at the intrusion, but her eyes do snap open of their own accord. She’d not heard him approach, lost in her thoughts as she was. Without turning, she addresses him. “I suppose as ship’s captain you must see to it that I climb back down.”

There’s a slight moment of pause in which she can imagine him shrugging. “I’ve given my warning. That’s due diligence enough to satisfy.” And then a rustling of fabric and a slight grunt as he pulls himself up just behind her, taking a seat himself. “You seem far away, milady, if it’s not too bold for me to say.”

She smiles slightly, looks up at the nearly full moon hanging high overhead. “Just imagining a different life.”

He doesn’t sound surprised when he postulates, “A life of regency, wealth, and an amorous prince, you mean?”

Emmy snorts, casts a look over her shoulder at him but pauses just the slightest. He’s dressed down, not wearing his usual captain’s hat or coat. Instead he sits before her in a simple white shirt that reveals his form with the wind pressing back on it, his ghostly pale hair let down to flutter about his comely face. She fears she’s looked too long because he raises a sharp brow at her, and she turns away to look out over the pitch expanse before them. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Oh? Might I request an indulgence, my lady?”

“Emmy.” She blinks at herself, at her boldness at offering such a private name to this man whom she’d known all of a week. Only Kurt and Constantin call her thus, not even her mother or the professor.

“Emmy then,” he agrees, and her cheeks grow warm. “Was that a declination?”

“I… erm, well, no.” Clearing her throat, she sits up straighter, pulls her hair into her hands to begin to try to braid it. “I was just… That is… You see, Captain—”

“Just Vasco, if we’re to be familiar.”

Her blush spreads to her ears, and she’s thankful he can’t see, but his voice and the warmth of his body reminds her how close he is and does nothing to abate her nerves. Still, a lifetime in Society has provided her the means to hold her nerves in check, and she steels herself against them. “You see, Vasco, I have never been one to seek out luxuries in life. I know this may sound as though I’m just another noble who has never realized how good she has it, but I’ve hated many aspects of my life since I was very young.”

“In what way?” His question is genuine, but she can still hear the faint undertone beneath it, the one that tells her that that is precisely what he’s seeing in her now.

“I’ve… I’ve always wanted more. Or, less, as it were. Less supervision, fewer rules, fewer expectations. It has always been ‘Emmalia, a lady does not go round in stockings.’ ‘Emmalia, a lady does not scale the bannister.’ ‘Emmalia, a lady—’ just rules, rules, rules. Etiquette and manners and stuffy dresses and painful corsets.” She takes a breath to steel herself, to slow her whining, and her hands give up the pursuit of taming her locks. She’s never been very good at such things. “I’ve never wanted it. I recognize that to have so much and not want it is nothing short of privileged, and that my life is the dream of many others, but for me it has always been on par with a nightmare.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the silence stretching between them as vast as this ocean. She can only imagine the way he’s judging her now, what he’s thinking. The silver spoon in her mouth tastes more tarnished than ever, especially given that she’s tossing it aside in the presence of a man who, judging by his tattoos and callouses and station alone, has lived nothing short of a difficult life. And for a moment, she worries that perhaps she should not have told him, that whatever comradery that there might have developed between them was now forever dashed. But surely, a man as young as he should understand. Has he never wondered at the life he could have had?

“What is it you dream of then?”

It surprises her, his question. Part of her thought he would never respond, that he’d just walk away to leave the spoiled noble to her dramatic daydreams, but she’d not expected him to care enough to ask. “I…” She blinks, concentrates on the wealth of dreams stored in her mind. Which one was the one she sought the most? “Truth be told, Ca—Vasco, I um… It’s rather embarrassing actually.”

He chuckles, a dark, smooth sound that rumbles across her skin in a uniquely surprising way. Her hair which has fallen over her shoulder and been shifting in the wind, is taken into a hand, not roughly by any means, and the other hand accompanies it. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he purrs.

Emmy blushes furiously, even worse when she realizes his hands are moving, pulling her hair into the braid she’d been trying for. Against her better instincts, she leans into his touch, tilting her head up to assist his efforts. “I… Truthfully?” He grunts in affirmation. “I’ve always dreamt of… a life at sea.”

“You… want to be a Naut?” He sounds incredulous, and his hands falter for just a moment.

“I… I don’t know. I just… Look, I’m no child. I understand that it’s not all dashing swordfights and swashbuckling and jaunty sea shanties. Those are just stories we tell children. But… Nauts aren’t… Tied down. There’s very few expectations from them beyond reaching destinations in a timely manner. There’s no dinner versus dessert forks, no seasonal colors, no excellencies vs highnesses. It just… sounds so free. And the ocean, gods’ breath, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’d get into all sorts of trouble climbing to the top of the palace to look out at it or I’d sneak down to the docks to try to stow away on ships leaving for other worlds. No home but the ship, no mistress but the sea… It’s…” She swallows suddenly, realizing how carried away she’d gotten. Clearing her throat in embarrassment, she looks down at the hands clasped in her lap. “I told you it was embarrassing.”

He’s silent again, but his hands are back to work. A while later, her hair is draped across her shoulder, deftly braided and secured with a bit of string. “Not at all.”

The warmth leaves her back suddenly with a rustling of fabric before the sound of boots hitting the ground draws her attention. He is walking away from her, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down. “H-Hey!” She stands, frowning after him. “What about yours?”

He lifts his hand over his shoulder in a wave and keeps on his way. “Another time, milady.” And, with a flourish, he disappears below deck, leaving her alone in the silence once more.

Her fists clench a few times as she reels over what just happened before she finally turns back to the ocean and sits once more. Shaking her head, she admires the way he tied her hair and sighs mournfully.

The silence is far too empty now.


End file.
